Attic Adventures
by littlemusings
Summary: When tasked to clean up the attic by his Daddy Kurt, Rory Hummel-Anderson and his Pop, Blaine, work together. What happens when Rory finds a pair of black boxing gloves that belonged to his Pop amongst the clutter? One-shot. COMPLETE. future!Klory.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Glee. _It is property of FOX, RIB, and their affiliates.

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><p><strong>Attic<strong> _Adventures_  
><em>of boxing gloves and worried dads<em>  
>by littlemusings<p>

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><p>"<em>I won't be home until Monday night. Turns out I have to do another press conference and another meeting with the board to talk about launching this new line,"<em> Kurt sighed into the phone. "_I'm really, really sorry, babe. Can you tell Rory I'm sorry, too? I know he has his show choir sectional on Monday—I'll try to make it, I'll try to get an earlier flight back—"_

Blaine smiled as he imagined his husband, practically flailing and begging worriedly for forgiveness on the other line in New York. "Kurt, it's okay. I think he'll understand. You've been to all of his performances—one little miss isn't going to upset him!"

"_He has a _solo_, Blaine. A _solo, _and he's only a sophomore! How many sophomores get solos these days, huh?_"

"Point made," Blaine mumbled, running a hand through his curly hair as he held his cell phone close rot his ear. "Do you want to talk to him?"

"_Where's my baby?_"

"He's upstairs, either talking on the phone to Harmony, Sugar, or someone else, or just doing homework. I'm not exactly sure."

"_Tell him he better start cracking open his textbooks or practice his solo, okay? How are his grades?_"

Blaine let out a chuckle. "Kurt, you checked the GradeSpeed server just two days ago, and it's Saturday, so I don't think anything has changed, really. He's still doing very well."

"_Does he still have that B-plus in geometry? If so, I want him to start practicing writing proofs and things like that—"_

"Kurt, honey, don't worry. He's doing _fine_. He just needs two more percentage marks to get an A-minus. I went to his parent-teacher conference yesterday. Miss Lynn said that he has the best grade in his class. He got _your_ mathematical ability. I guess it's just that Mr. Schue is bogging them down with rehearsals."

"_Thank god,"_ Kurt sighed in relief. "_I'm going to talk to Schue about the rehearsal schedule. I mean, I know how it works, and you know how it works, but I don't want Ror to fall off the Principal's Honors list, and…oh my god, what am I saying? I'm so sorry that I'm panicking. I haven't worried this much since McQueen nearly went bankrupt and stopped making clothes for a few months. Plus, I haven't been far away from the two of you for this long."_

"A week isn't that long, baby. You'll be home on Monday! We're still here."

"_True, true. Can I talk to Rory?"_

Blaine stood up from the couch. "Sure. Hold on, let me check if he's still awake."

As Blaine walked up the stairs quietly, Kurt spoke. "_Also, can you guys do me a favor? I've been meaning to clean out the attic for a while now, and it's a mess—looks like Santana took all of the razors in her hair and flung them all over the place._"

"Haha, alright. It's no problem—we'll get right to it in the morning."

"_I love you," _Kurt sighed.

"I love you, too," Blaine responded idly. He turned a corner and knocked on the first door to the left. "Rory?"

He opened the door, finding his son fast asleep, his radio quietly blasting the latest Pink song, his head propped sideways on his geometry book.

"_I hear Pink. Christ, our kid got your taste in music."_

"No, I think the song just ended and now it's something from _Wicked_, so you should be proud," Blaine whispered. "He's asleep."

"_Don't wake him up!"_ Kurt hissed. "_Aw, Rory."_

"He's sleeping on his desk! That's bad for his back!" Blaine said in return. "Kiddo," he added, shaking Rory's shoulder gently. The boy shot awake, shouting:

"THE SIDE-ANGLE-SIDE THEOREM IS—" he exclaimed, gripping the sides of his desk tightly, blue-green eyes wide open.

"Kiddo, it's just me!" Blaine exclaimed, attempting to stifle his laughter. Rory relaxed his posture and held a hand to his heart.

"Oh, god, Pop, you freaked me out."

Blaine winked. "Much obliged, kiddo. Your daddy's on the other line."

"Really?" Rory grinned. Blaine nodded and handed him the phone, and Rory took it immediately. "Hey, dad."

"_Hi, Rory. How are you, baby? I miss you! You're not giving your Pop a hard time, are you?"_

"I'm not, I promise," Rory laughed. "I was just—" he yawned and stretched, "—studying some geometry. I hate triangles."

"_Don't worry, trigonometry will be your best friend in years to come_," Kurt said. "_Break a leg on Monday night! I found out I won't be back until then…but I'm going to try my hardest to catch an earlier flight to Ohio so I won't miss a thing."_

Rory's eyes widened. "No, dad, it's okay! You don't have to stress yourself over this. Besides, you can still watch us rock Regionals and Nationals!"

"_I wouldn't miss your first solo for the world, kiddo."_

"If you do—it's okay. Pop can videotape it on his iPhone!"

Blaine called out, "Yeah, don't stress out, babe. I'll post it on Facebook for you to watch!"

"_I'm still going to try, alright?"_

"Oh, fine," Rory responded, grinning. "How's New York? I miss it there."

"_We'll be back there as a family soon enough anyway, Ror, once everything with the line is settled. It's still the same ol' state—fabulous as always."_

"'Fierce and fabulous,' as Aunt Brittany always says," Rory said. Kurt let out a small giggle on the other line.

"_Oh, I miss you, kiddo. I miss your Pop."_

"It's only been a week. I'm still here," Rory assured him. "I'm still fifteen."

"_Thank god, because you're growing up way too fast. You're already taller than _me_," _Kurt snorted. "_Well…I've got to go. I love you, Ror. Good luck on Monday!"_

"Thanks, Dad. Love you, too!" Rory said into the phone. He handed it back to his Poppa.

"Love you, Kurt. See you. Let me know when you arrive so we can pick you up okay?" Blaine said, smiling.

"_I will. Love you!"_

And with that, Kurt hung up. Blaine sighed and put his phone in his pocket, looking back at his son.

He folded his arms. "Get to bed, kiddo. We've got attic duty tomorrow."

Rory's face fell. "The…attic? The place where things go to die?"

Blaine nodded dramatically. "Yes, the place where things go to die."

"Cool," Rory exclaimed. He then proceeded to put his school things away neatly on his bookshelf, and then tossed his jeans in a corner, climbing into bed in his t-shirt and boxers. "Night, pop."

"Night, Ror. Love you."

"Love you, too, Pop."

Blaine walked to the door, switched off the lights, smiling and then walked out, closing the door behind him.

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><p>The Hummel-Anderson attic was a place of long-forgotten treasures—well, at least that's what <em>Rory<em> liked to think. His fathers never really divulged a lot about their pre-high school and some of their high school years to him, and whenever he wanted answers, he snuck up to the attic and looked at old McKinley High and Dalton Academy yearbooks, because they were the only things he was able to find.

The fact that his Poppa (Blaine; he called Kurt 'Daddy' to make things easier) was bringing him up there himself to sort through their old things excited him a little.

"Look at what I found, Ror!" Blaine exclaimed, holding up a pair of light blue baby booties. "These were yours!"

Rory let out a snort and took them in his own hands. "These are tiny. Where do you want me to put them?"

"I labeled some boxes last night—put it in the 'Rory's Baby Stuff' box over there in the corner."

Rory did so, and began looking through some old, close-to-breaking boxes. He found a dark blue blazer with red piping and tried it on. "Dalton, Pop?"

Blaine let out a light, happy laugh. "Yup! I was there for my freshman and sophomore year. Transferred to McKinley during my junior year to be with your dad."

"How…romantic," Rory fake-gagged. Blaine rolled his eyes and chuckled, continuing to sort through the boxes on his side.

Rory practically dove into the box that held the Dalton blazer. He soon found a small box of bow ties, old cardigans, empty music notebooks, and a set of Beatles-themed guitar picks, which he kept in a small pile by him to bring downstairs to his room later.

Rory stared blankly at the tattered pair of boxing gloves at the bottom of the large box of his poppa's old school things.

"Um, pop...? What's this?" he asked, holding them up by the strings. Blaine looked up from a box of Kurt's old scarves ("_Make sure you get them to the best cleaners as soon as you find them_," Kurt made Blaine promise when he called that morning) and froze.

"Oh...um...boxing gloves," Blaine said, his voice a little higher.

Rory snorted. "That's a bit obvious, pop. What were they for?"

All of the color in Blaine's face drained. "They were...they're nothing. Just put them back in the box, Ror. They're pretty old, anyway."

Rory walked over to his dad and held them up in his face. "Pop, can I have them?"

Blaine sighed and took the gloves in his hand, studying them; his eyebrows were knitted as he held them by the strings. "Oh, man. I thought I left these at your grandma and grandpa's place…"

Rory sat down next to his dad. "What were they for?" he asked curiously.

Blaine looked up from the gloves and smirked at his son. "I started a branch of Fight Club at Dalton. Obviously can't talk about it now, can I?" he said slyly.

"But…you just said that there was a Fight Club, and I remember watching that movie at Sugar's house the other day, and you can't mention the name or anything—"

"—I said I can't talk about it," Blaine said, winking.

He dropped the boxing gloves into a nearby box, and dusted his hands off, obviously amused by his fifteen year-old son's star-struck face. "You should ask Uncle Finn. He'll give you all the gory details. Come on, let's get some lunch."

Blaine stood up and whistled, walking down the attic stairs. Rory hurried over to the box and peered into it. He grabbed the gloves and tried them on immediately. He looked around the attic and picked up the Dalton blazer, putting it on (with slight difficulty; he was too lazy to remove the gloves while putting the heavy coat on).

He took a deep breath and jabbed at the air. Punched at it, kicked at it—pretended to head-butt it.

"Ha!" he breathed. "Haaaaa-iiiiyaaaah!" he lashed out, kicking at the air.

"I can hear you, Rory! Put the gloves away, kiddo!"

"Coming, dad!" he squeaked, dropping the gloves right back in. Before he walked down the attic stairs, he gave one last look at the box, and grinned.

_Looks like my Pop's got a secret…and I'm going to ask Dad about it when he gets home._

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<br>**

I have fallen victim to the "Rory is a time traveler" fandom-created plot line. Seriously, though, Rory Flanagan looks like he could be Kurt and Blaine's son-and in my headcanon, biologically Kurt's-because of so many reasons.

My very good friend (understatement of the year-she's the Blaine to my Kurt), Cat (aftermecomesthefloods on and madwomanwithabox on Tumblr) and I are going to make a time-traveler!Klory+Fabmony (Faberry/Harmony)+Suttana (Brittana/Sugar) family fic and post it on our joint account, _aftermecomesthemusings_ (so original, isn't it? We're so clever!) soon enough. This particular one-shot (well, part of it) will be referenced as a flashback in the main fic.

After watching _Hold Onto Sixteen_, this crazy Klory headcanon just popped up in my head. Poor, poor Blainers. I wanted to give him a hug and never let him go.

Also, I love daddy!Kurt. He's so precious, always worrying about his little baby. Blaine's the happy-go-lucky dad! Hurrah!

Anyway, thank you for reading, and please leave a review!


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